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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25273708">Feeding Turtle-Ducks</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness'>fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin)</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin'>LoonyLupin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lost Tales: Stories from the Avatar Universe [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dementia, Gen, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, Sibling Rivalry, The Search Comics (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:22:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,547</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25273708</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Azula struggles with her memory, but her brother is there to help.</p><p>A bittersweet reflection on redemption and the sibling relationship through the years.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Azula &amp; Zuko (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lost Tales: Stories from the Avatar Universe [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831030</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>93</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Feeding Turtle-Ducks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div class="">
  <p> </p>
  <p></p>
  <div class="">
    <p>Some days time flutters past her in fragments, fallen leaves from the vine.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Azula gets… confused, now.  It is a fact that once would have needled her.  Yet she can accept it, given that she forgets the confusion as quickly as it comes, riding each wave of memory with a grace befitting Fire Nation royalty.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Today her mind stretches back, back, back.  She sees Mother’s finery hanging forgotten in the grand wardrobe, recalls trying it on after sneaking away from her boring lessons.  She breathes in the smell of her mother. The beautiful robes drag on the ground, piles of fabric cloaking her child-sized frame.  She stuffs the robes back in the wardrobe in anger and considers setting them ablaze.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>She does not.  She is better than that.  Colder.  But when next she visits the wardrobe, its gilded hooks are empty, and she sinks to her knees in tears.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>She gets to her feet, crouched in a fighting stance, lightning gathering to her fingertips in a fight in the middle of a boiling lake.  Her friends stare at her, eyes lowered in deference, fear, acceptance of her rule.  She has allowed herself this indulgence, this trust in their alliance.  </p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>She is repaid by Mai’s words of <em>love</em>, Ty Lee’s knuckles fierce pinpricks beneath her armor, and she collapses to the ground before them like a fool.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Azula bows over herself.  Faintly she hears her name, kind whispers in a voice she knows but cannot identify.  Where is she?  She cannot say.  Time skips past her again.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Her coronation day.  She should be so proud, <em>so</em> proud of her perfection, her precision, her careful skill.  But her attendants are traitors and her mother whispers sadly in her ears.  She stares into the mirror through her ruined bangs.  With all her intelligence, all her skill, still she never believed her father would treat her this way.  As <em>lesser</em>.  As an <em>afterthought</em>.  </p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>She never thought he would treat her like her brother.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Sozin’s comet flares and the fire in her veins scorches, pure and clean.  The world is quiet here, only herself and her hauntings, Zuzu and a faceless shadow in the background.  The Agni Kai boils around them, the terrible roar of flames blue and orange beneath a red sky, and she pulls out lightning from deep within herself, aims at the shadow — because she can’t bear to aim at him, not this time — or because she misjudges the battlefield — or because she wants to hurt him, but not to kill him -- or because she can’t bear for him to live and remember her like this —</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>She doesn’t know why she calls the lightning and sends it onward.  But she sees her brother hit the ground rolling, sparking, sizzling, his hands weak and nerveless, the smell of singed hair and skin in the air, and she thinks, <em>I’ve won</em>.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>So why does this part always make her weep?</p>
    <p> </p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>***</p>
    <p> </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Sometimes, a flame burns brightly in her mind, and with it a blue-white clarity.  Today is a better day, and this time she does not wander, lost, through the shadow-stories of her own mind.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She remembers this place on these clear days.  She knows this quiet group of cottages near the city and the sea, where royal attendants skilled in healing and care help her and others like her.  They call it the Fireside Cove, and today she waits near the pond for her favorite visitor.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Zuko rounds the corner, stepping into the garden with a grin on his face.  He had been a tall man in his prime, but now his shoulders bend forward, his long white hair flowing more like water than flame.  His clothing is casual but rich, befitting a former Firelord.  The old scar glares as ever but Azula feels no spiteful delight, no vindication, when she looks into his face. She feels only comfort.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He sits beside her, slowly lowering himself into a lotus position.  “How are you today, sister?” he asks gently.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Azula smiles.  “Clear.”  It is the word she has chosen for those rare days, rarer now, when the mists of age depart and let her see the present, not the past.  She does not know why she bears this struggle but he does not, but she does not begrudge him for it.  She knows that she can bear it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m glad,” he says, and his lined face creases into a smile that falters.  “Yesterday was a hard day for you.  I visited, but… we didn’t really get to talk.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Azula nods, looking into the pond.  She cannot remember it, but she trusts him to speak the truth.  “Sometimes it is so difficult to know what is here.  What is now.”  She closes her eyes.  “There are so many things I wish had been different.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It was a long time ago, Azula,” he says, resting a hand on her shoulder.  She leans against her big brother.  “It’s all right now.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“But I nearly killed you,” she says reproachfully.  “I would have done it, were my technique better.”  She breathes deep.  “Have I ever apologized to you?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“A hundred hundred times,” he murmurs, “over many years.”  He smiles fondly.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I don’t remember,” she sniffs.  “I should remember something like that.”   She sits up straight, then inclines her head in a bow, her hands in a salute.  “I’m sorry, Zuzu.  Truly.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Zuko takes her hands in his.  They’re gnarled and wizened, and for a moment she blinks, surprised.  Then she remembers again.  It was all such a long time ago, and yet it seems so fresh.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I forgive you,” he says.  “And I always will.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She nods, clinging to his words.  She suspects they will slip away again like the other memories, but maybe, maybe she can hold them this time.  She is <em>Azula</em>, she is <em>royalty</em>, she <em>commands</em> the words to stay writ in her mind --  And they do, for a little while, at least.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s good to have visitors,” Azula declares, pulling back and straightening up despite the protests of her creaking back.  “You are not the only one, Zuzu, though you are my favorite.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He grins lopsidedly at her, and he is seven years old again, impossibly grown up and wise in her eyes.  “I thought Kiyi and her family weren’t coming until next month.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Not Kiyi.”  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Then who?” asks Zuko.  He considers.  “I’m sorry Izumi has been so busy.  I know she has not been able to visit for some time due to her duties, and as for my grandson --”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Azula waves a hand at him.  “Kiyi and Ty Lee send me letters, and the others are busy ensuring the safety of the Fire Nation, of course,” she says.  “No, I have had other visitors.”  She smiles, a small and secret smile.  “Perhaps you will think me crazy if I tell you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Zuko gazes at her, and for a moment she wonders if it is sorrow darkening his amber eyes.  She is unsure, though, and in the next moment the expression fades. “No,” says Zuko.  “I won’t.  You can tell me.  I promise.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Mother has been to visit,” Azula whispers.  “And Uncle Iroh.  They -- they tell me they are proud.”  She blinks back sudden tears, and turns away.  Perhaps she should not have told him, should not have shared their faces distant and yet so close, their words so peaceful and certain, their simple promise heartening.  <em>Soon</em>.  She flushes.  “Don’t laugh.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>When she does dare to look at him again, this time she is certain she cannot tell what his face shows.  His eyes are soft, bright with tears of their own, and yet he smiles back at her.  “I’m not laughing.  I’m happy for you, Azula.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Thank you,” she says, and then the moment splinters, shards of memory spilling out, unordered, chaotic.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>***</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She is different, changed, filled with mingled regret and hope as she steps, a guest, into the palace for the first time in a decade.  There is a pride in her brother and his rule, the way the people trust him without fear, something she could never have imagined as a frightened, fractured, perfect child -- </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Azula,” Ursa murmurs. “Do you remember our little game?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She catches her breath in the darkened recesses of the palace, her mother’s voice ringing in her ears.  She wants to resist.  She wants to snap at her mother to leave her alone. But she — she’s missed her, and she’s grown since their last meeting, and she understands now that there is a wound carried in her secret heart of hearts —</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I remember counting fire-butterflies in the garden,” Azula whispers. “Zuko would get impatient because there were so many, and he would wander off to play.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“But you were my clever girl,” says Ursa softly. “Sitting in my lap, counting so high.  Dozens of them.  They looked like jewels at dusk, glittering in the last of the sunlight. You were so proud of yourself for counting so many.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I pretended they were my soldiers.  You and Father always told me I would be a great leader someday,” Azula says.  She turns away.  “But Zuko found his honor, Mother.  I lost mine long ago.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You are finding it.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I --” she tries.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I failed you,” says Ursa, and Azula winces.  “My beautiful, clever daughter. I’m so sorry.”  Ursa’s arms around her are warm and strong, and she has forgotten what this feels like, it was so long ago and she was so small, so lost within the armor she’d created --</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I hated you,” she sobs.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I loved you, my Azula, my fire-butterfly.”  Ursa’s voice cracks, thick with seeming sorrow.  “You were always so brilliant. I never stopped loving you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I don’t believe you,” she whispers stubbornly, but it is a lie, and she knows her mother knows it.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>***</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Azula shakes her head, blinking back grateful tears.  But her mother isn’t here, and she searches the room in confusion.  The tea room.  She knows this place.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s been many years,” her uncle says, brushing the floor of his shop peacefully.  “You’ve grown, Azula.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Or perhaps you’ve shrunk,” she jabs, but without any real venom. She watches him cautiously.  Older he might be, but he is still the Dragon of the West, as the Dai Le can attest.  It is not a battle she wants with him, but perhaps that is all she deserves.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Jasmine tea?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Surprise me, Uncle.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Ahhh, but you have been surprised by very few things, Azula. Still, I will do my best.”  He bows to her in the style of the Earth Kingdom, and turns to prepare the tea.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“There are a few things,” she admits.  “The older I become, the more I know I do not know.”  But she cannot name these things, not yet; she does not know how to put these new feelings into words, the reconciliation with her mother, the gradual and deep respect she has grown for Zuko, the cautious, painful meetings with Mai and Ty Lee, teaching her half-sister Kiyi firebending.  She is learning so much.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There is a long silence, broken only by tea pouring into her cup.  The scent of lotus flower fills the room.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You are different,” Iroh observes.  “That is a surprise of its own.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I have had time.  I hope it is enough.”  She hesitates.  It astounds her sometimes, how much she has learned by watching and waiting, and yet how much of life remains a mystery to her.  But she wishes to know more.   “Would you care for a game of Pai Sho?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“If you do not mind defeating a harmless old man.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You are as harmless as I, Uncle,” she says, but the smile he gives her is worth more than a dozen victories.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>***</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Voices in the garden, a face mouthing her name.  She does not understand.  She bows over her clasped hands, fire trembling at her fingertips, and lets the flames burn sweetly away.  The memories fall away, ash on the wind.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Izumi red-faced and wrinkled, her precious niece, pride of the Fire Nation.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A walk on a beach on Ember Island with Mai, her hair streaked gray, an embrace in the ocean breeze.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ty Lee’s hand in hers, the grip stronger and softer than she remembered.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Standing beside her brother with his family, <em>their </em>family, gazing clear-eyed at the pyre.  Watching the flames rise for Iroh, for Father, for Mother, for Mai.  Or was it a pyre at all?  Perhaps it was Sokka in Water Tribe finery, Aang in Air Nomad regalia.  She doesn’t know  -- she cannot name them -- where is she --</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>***</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A deep breath.  A blue-white flame dancing in her mind’s eye.  Clarity.  She is here again.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Azula?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>An old man gazes at her.  She squints. Could it be Father, somehow scarred and bowed with age? </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She reconsiders, searching for the answer.  No.  She is certain.  There is too much kindness in the eyes.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Her vision clears, and Azula glances at her big brother, taking another breath.  “I’m sorry.  What were we speaking of?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’re here again,” Zuko says, seeming relieved.  “We’re just spending time together, that’s all.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Zuko pulls her close to him in a clumsy hug, and she chuckles, allowing him to do so for a moment before pulling back.  “Gross, Zuzu.  All of this family affection.  Isn’t it a bit much?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well, you’re one of my favorite sisters,” he says seriously.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You always were a sentimental fool.  Don’t worry, I won’t tell Kiyi if you declare me your favorite,” she scoffs.  She glances down to the blanket they are sitting on, and lets out a laugh.  “You’ve been holding out on me.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Have not,” he protests.  “It’s for both of us to share.  I was waiting until you were ready.”  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“So you say,” she says, fixing him with a wicked glare that shifts into a sly smile.  “But I believe you.  You always were a terrible liar.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“<em>Someone </em>got all the lying talent in the family,” says Zuko, nudging her in the side with a bony elbow.  “I wonder who that could be.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Jealous as usual?” she asks loftily.  But she reaches between them, picking out a handful of cracked corn from the bag resting on the blanket.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You wish,” he snorts, and he sounds <em>just</em> like the hot-headed young man she remembers so clearly.  He reaches down and picks up his own handful of grain.  “Bet I can get more turtle-ducks to come over than you can.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I have the home advantage,” she reminds him.  “They <em>know</em> me, Zuzu.”  They toss their handfuls together, golden corn twinkling on the surface of the still pond for an instant before the turtle-ducks begin to swim towards them. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“They know me, too,” he declares.  The turtle-ducks cluster before them near the water’s edge, peacefully eating the offering, making happy little noises of contentment.  “I think it’s a tie.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Very well,” says Azula after a swift count.  Alas, he is right.  “We will see who is the victor at tomorrow’s visit, won’t we?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”   </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The setting sun dances on the water in reds and golds, a brilliant gleaming in this quiet moment.  She knows not how long it will last, but perhaps that isn’t important, anyway.  The turtle-ducks splash and play before them, swimming at the water’s edge, and Azula laughs beside her brother.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I teared up about ten times writing this.  Azula was still a child when the war ended at 14-15, and the ending of ATLA never quite sat right with me regarding Azula's fate.  I hope that the comics will someday show her finding a path to redemption and reconciliation, but until then, I wanted this work to make it clear that she struggled, and fought, and changed, and found her peace.   I picture this taking place some time after the Legend of Korra ends, given how elderly both Azula and Zuko are at this time.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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